


All Good Men

by Worker_9



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Camping, F/M, Gender Confusion, Golems, Magic, Non-Sexual Urination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worker_9/pseuds/Worker_9
Summary: With the party late setting out on their quest, John Lightmeadow had been forced to hire an unknown. After all, you couldn't go dungeon crawling without a thief, so it was either that or cancel. Sam Oaks seemed trustworthy enough, and he undoubtedly had the skills, but there was something strange about him.... Request fill for Anonymous, who disappeared without comment, so I assume they no longer care about this fic. It's not technically abandoned, but updates are a low priority, so please don't expect further chapters any time soon.Rating and warning apply to future chapters. No actual sex or violence yet. Future tags:Scent Kink, Sweat, Armpit Hair, Pubic Hair, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex





	All Good Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



John Lightmeadow, proprietor of the Lightmeadow Academy of Fencing, was feeling irritated. He didn’t let it show. As a quest leader, you had to set a good example. Outwardly, he was calm, in control of the situation, but he knew that everybody had heard the clock tower strike six.

Today was already cutting it fine. The summer solstice was fast approaching, and there’d be a hard march ahead, even if they could somehow make the planned morning departure. But the later they left it, the more the risk grew, and John was loath to let evil fester in the mountains for another year.

It was this urgency that had lead him to hire an unknown, one Sam Oaks, specialist in locks and traps. John didn’t like to use the word “thief.” Still, as he had to admit, evil lurked in the city too, and if some corrupt nobleman lost his ill-gotten gains, that was no concern of John’s, and no concern of the Celestial Gods.

The academy was less than an hour’s walk from the city, so naturally, the rest of the party had arrived on time. Sitting next to him was Carl Rollo, Priest Solar. A tall and powerfully built man, Carl was an old friend of John’s, and a fellow veteran adventurer. Perhaps he was a little too fond of his dice and his ale, and it showed on his belly, but that was no concern of the Celestials either. Carl had their favor, and there was nobody John would rather have at his side in a fight. Carl wore a full beard like his own, and the same shoulder-length hair—short enough to be hard to grab, long enough to project authority.

Opposite him sat Starclaw, wizard. Starclaw had fought alongside John enough times that his looks no longer bothered him. The emaciated frame, the hairless pale skin, the eyes featureless pools of black like a beetle’s carapace in the shadow of his blood-red cloak: it all went to show that you couldn’t trust appearances. John would even joke about it; with those eyes Starclaw could check out all the girls and nobody could tell who he was looking at. Right now, John assumed he was looking at the map. Starclaw’s frankly terrifying power was on the side of good, and that was all that mattered.

Rudy, John’s second in command, was standing with them. Rudy was to run the academy while they were gone, and even though the students always wanted tuition from a real adventurer, John would freely acknowledge that Rudy was the better swordsman. Things would be just fine under his watchful eyes. Just fine, that was, if Sam ever showed up. Without the full party the only safe option would be to call the whole thing off.

The iron mule was packed and ready to go. John had rented it cheap from the Guild of Golem Builders. There wasn’t much call for plow pulling in midsummer. Despite the drawbacks of magical haulage, John had long since learned that living pack animals couldn’t be relied on. The four-legged golem was barely larger than a dog, and so heavy that even Carl struggled to lift it. Once its animating rune was placed on its forehead, it would walk with mindless determination toward its destination rune, sure-footed over the roughest ground. The Guild required an additional deposit for each of the runes, which were inscribed on miniature parchment scrolls.

Through the open window to the inner courtyard, John could hear the clatter of wooden swords, and the occasional grunt of exertion. The students lived in the nearby dormitory. No chance of _them_ being late. The empty seconds slipped away, and John was almost ready to bring up the subject of postponing the quest, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said John, his deep voice resonating off the bare stone walls.

The door opened. There was Mitchell, a promising student of the longsword. John favored arming sword and kite shield himself, and the shield smaller than usual to suit the confined quarters an adventurer so often found himself in.

“Mr Oaks to see you, sir,” said Mitchell. And there was Sam, hanging back in the shadows.

“Come in, Sam,” said John. “And thank you, Mitchell. Dismissed.”

Sam crept in, face hung low, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Terribly sorry, sir,” said Sam with muffled voice. “I ran into some trouble.”

John didn’t want to know. In the plain light of day, Sam was a singularly unimpressive specimen. His hair was cropped short like a soldier’s, and as far as John could tell, he was clean shaven under the black kerchief he’d tied covering his mouth. His military style did little to draw attention from how short he was, or how slight his figure. He wore a boiled-leather cuirass over his grubby shirt, leather breeches and boots, and a multi-pouched belt around his waist. The cuirass looked a little too big for him, but any armor was better than none. A crossbow and a goat’s foot lever were strapped to his back.

“Well, what have we here,” chuckled Carl. “John, you hire us a boy?”

“Lay off him, Carl,” said John. The thought had crossed his mind, but John had no worries. “He swore on the Orb, with no time to prepare, and was not burned. He is of age, and joins us with good intent. May I remind you that the hangman takes no children. If one in Sam’s profession were to devise a false oath, it would be to feign youth, not age.”

“Relax, buddy, I’m joking,” said Carl. “If you trust him, I trust him. C’mon, Sam, take a seat.”

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Sam,” said John, “there’s no need to call me ‘sir.’ We’re in a hurry, but I’ve time for my usual lecture.” Sam nodded. “First of all, I want to make it clear that we’re equals here. We all take equal shares of the loot, and you accept my command only because I’m good at keeping adventurers alive. I’ve led twenty quests, and only one funeral. I won’t deny that it’s a dangerous job, but I’ll do all I can to keep you alive. And in return, I expect the same from you. ‘No man left behind’—that’s my motto. Somebody lost, we find them. Somebody wounded, we carry them back. No exceptions. You understand?”

“Yes,” said Sam, nodding gravely.

John glanced at Carl and Starclaw. “Okay, men, let’s recite the rules.” He slammed his fist on the rough planks of the wooden table.

“Stay alive!” called the three of them, Carl’s voice rich and melodious, Starclaw’s harsh and rasping. Rudy kept silent, smiling as he watched. John hit the table again.

“Defeat evil!” Another strike of John’s fist.

“Get rich!”

“And that’s in order of importance,” said John. “You’re no use to anybody when you’re dead, and there’s no shame in wealth won honorably. I tell you truly it can be a lucrative profession—this fine building was built on the loot of many successful quests. No guarantees though. And now we’ve that out of the way, introductions.”

Everybody told Sam their name and role. Carl clapped a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder as he did so. “You eaten yet?” asked Carl.

“No,” mumbled Sam.

“Could do with a little more meat on your bones.” Carl turned to Rudy. “Hey, Ironhead, we got any oats left?”

“Should be some,” replied Rudy.

“Follow me, friend,” said Carl. “We’ll set you up right.” He left for the kitchen with Sam behind him.

“And get him a helmet,” John called after him. Starclaw was excused because it would interfere with his magic, but everybody else needed one. John had seen many a dent in a helmet that would have been a fatal head wound without it.

John looked over the heavily-laden iron mule one more time. He planned to journey for six days, so he’d packed provisions for nine. Food, water skins, two tents, woolen blankets, assorted tools both magical and mundane, and five long coils of fine silk rope. You could never have too much rope. On top of it all were his and Carl’s gambesons. Their chain mail hauberks would be less effective without them, but the padded jackets were much too hot to wear for long at this time of year. They’d put them on only for the final assault.

Sam returned, wearing a good steel helmet, and carrying a bowl of cold oatmeal and beet molasses, and a mug of water. He lifted his kerchief and began shoveling spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth.

“No need to bolt it down like that,” said Carl.

“Nearly finished already,” said Sam. A few more mouthfuls, then he hid his face again and joined the others in looking at the map.

By the flight of the crow, their destination was a mere 25 miles north of the academy. Their quest was to the ruins of a fort, that, in times lost to memory, once guarded a pass through the mountains. After rock falls had rendered it useless, good men preferred to stay south of the river. It was that river, running eastward down the valley and spilling out past the rocks of the bay, that necessitated their detour. The river was swollen with snow-melt, and as it approached the sea its north bank grew soft and marshy; even if they could ford it, the risk to the iron mule was too great.

Instead they would head upstream, where deep in the wooded valley, the old bridge would give an easier crossing. From there, up the other side of the valley, then back east to their destination, sticking to the high ground to evade detection. A simple plan, and one that John would have been happy with if only they’d started a day or two earlier.

He went over it with the party, checking that everybody knew their tasks. The sun was climbing ever higher in the sky, and the time for decision was now.

“You all ready?” asked John.

“As always,” said Carl.

“As wizard is never unready,” said Starclaw.

Quieter, and more hesitant than the others, Sam said simply, “yes.”

“Well then, Rudy, looks like its time to leave the academy in your hands. Keep the students working as hard as I would.”

“No doubt of that,” Rudy replied. “I’ll keep somebody on message duty day and night.”

“Let’s hope we never send one.” It was a standard precaution, but realistically, John knew that they couldn’t count on a rescue party saving them.

“You’d better get going,” said Rudy.

After much slapping of backs and parting blessings, the party filed out the front door.

* * * * *

In the morning sunlight, the moorland around the academy looked deceptively picturesque. Weathered outcrops of granite jutted from the hills, trees and shrubs grew low against the wind, and everywhere were signs of abandoned human activity. The road itself was well maintained, with its smooth flagstones flat and level, but nearby were lines of stones that could once have been walls, depressions in the ground where buildings once stood, and patterns in the vegetation hinting at ghosts of paths long forgotten.

One would do well, thought John, to remember _why_ nothing but traces remained. Even so close to the city, even in daylight, monster attacks could come without warning. The stark beauty of the granite tors was the beauty of the venomous snake, or the poison berry; the rocks gave cover, and cover meant ambushes. Nobody grazed sheep here anymore.

The iron mule followed close behind him, with a jerky, unnatural gait that made riding it more a circus act that a practical means of transport. Carl would have strong words for anybody who tried. As he liked to say, he could mend broken bones, but he couldn’t mend stupidity. On the road the mule’s pace felt slow, which was no bad thing. John didn’t want to tire the party on the first day. They were about twenty miles from the forest, and while he had no doubts of his own and Carl’s fitness, Starclaw and Sam might struggle if he overworked them.

Sam was walking beside the mule. His leather armor looked hot compared to John’s own chain mail, but he showed no signs of discomfort, even as the road ran steeper up the hill. John knew the road well. It led to the stone circle: a formation of twelve rough-hewn monoliths near the river bank, older than anybody could remember, and powerfully enchanted. He held graduation ceremonies for the students there. The party would turn left up the valley before reaching it, but they’d approach close enough to see.

Butterflies fluttered across the purple heather, and seagulls wheeled high overhead. They marched onward, and crested the hill. No matter how many times John saw it, it was always a spectacular vista. The valley spread before him, blazing sunlight lighting the river like a ribbon of bright silver. To their right was the ocean, too dangerous for any but the most foolhardy to navigate, and to their left the forest. Straight ahead, the ring of standing stones cast short shadows on the grass, and far beyond, across the river, the snow-capped mountains faded into mist. The fortress could not be seen from this angle.

John rolled up the iron mule’s destination rune scroll, and it stopped walking at once. “Let’s take a break,” he said. The location wasn’t ideal, but at least it would be difficult for anybody to sneak up on them here. “Share out the perishable rations.”

Carl unfastened a bag from the mule, and John took his share of fresh bread and cheese, and his apple. The bread was still soft, and the others looked to be enjoying it, yet John’s mind was elsewhere. With their unavoidable detour, the mountains were farther away than they looked. And their enemy, if the rumors were true and there indeed was an enemy, was largely a mystery. He didn’t like it. Still, he couldn’t let it show.

Sam glanced at John while he chewed his bread. “It’s like home here,” said Sam. “I mean, before I came to the city. My family farmed sheep. I used to knit while I watched them. Knitting by touch. Never dropped a stitch. I guess that’s why I picked up locks so easily.”

And was his life better or worse now? Whichever it was, they couldn’t do without his skills, and Sam had demonstrated his ability with the lock picks to John’s satisfaction. Why he’d left the shepherd’s life was his own affair. Thievery was a riskier path to wealth than adventuring, and John knew the fences took most of the profit. Sam’s armor, while expensive to an agricultural worker, was worth little compared to his own. As far as he could see, Sam’s most valuable possession was his crossbow, and that was more of a hunting bow than a weapon of war.

“You learn to shoot there too?”

“Yeah. Rabbits, mostly. Killed a wolf once. Got it right between the eyes.”

“Impressive.” Impressive, that was, if it wasn’t an exaggeration, or a complete fabrication.

“You want a demonstration?” asked Sam.

John didn’t like to waste bolts, and if Sam was lying, it was too late to do anything about it. Ideally, Sam would never see combat in the first place. But before his refusal could leave his mouth, Carl interrupted. “Sam, you’ve got plenty of bolts, right? Let’s see how you shoot.”

“What target?” asked Sam.

“Between the eyes, you said?” Carl rummaged through the food bag and got out another apple. “Span the bow. I’ll throw this apple in the air. Shoot it before it hits the ground.”

“Very funny,” said John. “How about something realistic?”

“I’ll shoot it,” Sam said calmly. He took his goat’s foot lever and hooked it onto the string, then pulled back, the lever’s curved tines sliding over the pins on the stock to increase the leverage as the string approached the nut. The goat’s foot really was a wonderful invention, thought John. Sam didn’t look strong, but he didn’t need to be. In sieges, even woman would shoot crossbows.

“Throw it east,” said John. “We’re leaving the road now.”

Sam held a bolt in place with his thumb as he sighted down the stock. Carl leaned back, and putting his whole body into it, hurled the apple high into the air. Sam squeezed the trigger. With a loud click, the nut rolled forward, and the bolt shot through the air. The apple hit the ground.

“Missed,” said Sam. “Give me another try. Throw it the same. I’ll get it this time, now I know the range.”

“Let’s not bruise all the apples,” said John. “But if you find the bolt, that’s almost the same as trap finding. A good demonstration. It won’t be easy.”

“I’ll find it,” said Sam.

“Now, let’s get moving.” John unrolled the iron mule’s scroll, and led it down the hill, heading for the long grass where the apple had fallen. Sam followed close behind, and Carl and Starclaw brought up the rear.

John didn’t have much hope of finding the bolt, but the apple should be easier. Sam saw it first. He picked it up and bit into it.

“Hey!” said Carl. “Don’t steal the rations!”

“You want it back?” asked Sam.

Carl’s face broke into a smile. “We’ve got plenty of food. Go ahead and eat it.”

John signaled his agreement. Sam ate the apple while they walked, spitting out the seeds and swallowing all the rest. Soon after he finished it he split away from the party.

“Around here,” he said. He dropped on hands and knees, searching the grass of the hillside. John stopped the mule again and watched. Sam worked swiftly, and after less than a minute he was scrabbling at the ground.

“Got it,” said Sam. He pulled out the bolt. “The flights are broken, but I can whittle new ones. I kind of expected that to happen. The head’s still good.” One advantage of wooden flights over feathers, thought John.

“You should have plenty of time tonight,” said John. “I want to reach the forest in good time.” He started the mule and resumed their journey.

* * * * *

The sun was still well above the horizon when they reached the outskirts of the forest. John took out his compass and waited for the needle to settle. He checked the bearings of the mountain peaks against the map. It was undoubtedly the right place, but where was the road? If the old records were correct, there should be a clear road to the bridge. He saw no sign of it. But that was a problem for tomorrow.

“Today, we’re only heading in far enough to stay out of sight. The less time we give the enemy to prepare the better, and while a surprise attack is too much to hope for, we can at least stay as stealthy as possible. No fire. Starclaw is in charge of cooking.” Boiling a cooking pot came so easily to Starclaw that it made no real difference to his combat effectiveness.

John was not looking forward to the journey through the forest. It was a woodsman’s nightmare, with trees all short and twisted and covered in lichen. Thick clumps of ferns grew below them, and sometimes grew on the trees themselves. All about them were boulders slippery with moss. The iron mule could traverse them, but they made for treacherous footing.

“We’ll search for a good campsite,” said John. “Everybody stay in sight of one another. There must be a place clear of these boulders if there was once a road.”

After much searching, they found what could almost be called a clearing. If there had been a road it had long since been engulfed by the vegetation, but there was a span of flatter ground with enough space for a tent, and not far from it space for another. It was safer to pitch the two tents a little apart, to make it more difficult to attack the whole party at once, but they needed to be close enough to back each other up. This was good enough.

“Starclaw with Carl,” said John, “and I’ll share with Sam.” Sam had taken the oath, and John had no serious expectation of betrayal, but it was the leader’s duty to share with the new party member.

John and Carl pitched the tents in good time, and Starclaw set to work on the cooking. With the planned river crossing the next day, there was no need to conserve water, so John had him cook the salt pork, changing the water several times to make it edible. John and Carl joined Sam in watching him.

Starclaw had his hands around an iron cooking pot. His eyes were closed, and steam was rising from the pot. Unlike smoke from a fire, the steam vanished into the air below the treetops. John had witnessed Starclaw’s talents many times, and still he found the process fascinating. The water was boiling, yet Starclaw’s hands were not burned. Somehow this felt every bit as uncanny as his more spectacular performances.

Carl didn’t wait. He left to forage as usual, and when the pork was almost ready, returned in high spirits with a big handful of lamb’s quarters.

“Lucky to find this!” said Carl. He added the greens to the cooking pot. A few minutes later, Starclaw poured out the boiling water, straining it through his fingers. They ate the pork and greens with the remainder of the bread, enjoying the fresh food while they had it. Hardtack and pemmican soon, thought John. Such was the adventurer’s life.

The sun settled lower in the sky, and the party relaxed. Sam found a suitable piece of wood, and carved a surprisingly good set of replacement flights for the crossbow bolt. It was getting late enough that it was time to discuss watch-keeping.

“Sam,” said John, “I’ll have you take the first watch. Starclaw needs the full night to maintain his power, so it’s just the three of us. I have a sand timer to share it equally. Now, at this time of the year it never gets truly dark, but you’ll rely on hearing as much as sight. I want you to patrol the camp, distant enough that you don’t wake us, and close enough to alert us if there’s danger. Come with me. I’ll walk a circuit with you.”

John got up and walked about 50 feet from the camp, with Sam following. He began a slow clockwise circuit. “Watch duty is a difficult task,” said John. “You are responsible for everyone’s safety. You must stay alert for danger, yet at the same time be aware that not every sound or shadow is a threat. We need sleep if we are to fight at full strength, so you must not wake us for a fox or a deer.”

John had with him the watchman’s tools. “This here,” he said, showing it to Sam, “is a wand of light.” The wand was a stick of smooth dark wood, one end tipped with clear quartz, and the other with red carnelian. “You know how to use it?”

“Yes,” said Sam.

“Use it as a last resort, and the red end only. As I said before, we aim for stealth, and red light will not harm your night vision. And here is the whistle.” He handed it to Sam. “First identify the threat. Second alert the party. And only third, if all else fails, fight. Do you keep the crossbow spanned?”

“No,” said Sam. “It might break if I leave it spanned too long, and I’ve no way to repair it here. You saw how fast I spanned it earlier though.”

“If it comes to a fight, you drop back. Stay behind Carl and me. Snipe if you can, but you’re not here as a front line fighter. Don’t try to be a hero. You remember the first rule of adventuring?”

“Stay alive!” said Sam.

“You got it,” said John happily. “You know, I was worried about you, but you’ve got the right attitude. You’re not going to be my second funeral, are you?”

“I’ll stay alive,” said Sam.

“That’s good to hear. I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll set the sand timer, so check on it every so often and wake me when the sand has all fallen. You take care.”

Sam nodded, and John returned to camp. He set the timer, lay down inside his tent, and closed his eyes.

* * * * *

The fabric of the tent was too thin to keep out the light. Midsummer might be the safest time to adventure, but it sure made it hard to sleep. John blinked, and looked for the sand timer. Even with the sun down, he could read it in the twilight without resorting to his own wand of light. About an hour remained until his watch.

John closed his eyes again, and tried to get back to sleep. The mossy ground under the tent was soft and comfortable, but it was no use. He was always like this on the first night of a quest. The images crept into his head: visions of past disasters and near misses. _That_ time. The time his own mistake had let a good man die. And Sam was out there alone and inexperienced. He could sleep during Carl’s watch, so there was no point lying awake worrying. Better now to check on Sam.

And it was a good opportunity for the test he liked to give to all new watchmen. Even if he wasn’t as stealthy as a true professional, John could sneak if he had to. Moving as slowly and smoothly as he could, he sat up, and wrapped his blanket around his armor to muffle it. Chain mail wasn’t as loud as plate, which was one reason he wore it despite its lesser protection, but the clinking of ring against ring could still give away his position. He bent over and let the armor slide very slowly past his head, hoping the wind in the trees outside would mask the sound.

If Sam saw him coming, that would put John’s mind greatly at ease. If he didn’t, it would teach Sam a valuable lesson. Making the assumption that Sam had continued his clockwise patrol, John crept out of the tent and proceeded anti-clockwise. He strained his eyes against the gloom, careful not to step on any dry twigs or debris. Moving swiftly and silently from tree to tree, John watched and listened.

He heard a faint cracking sound not far from him. Sam treading on a stick? John held his breath and listened. Then, he heard an unmistakable sound, and he laughed inwardly to himself. It was bad practice to be sure, but it improved his chances in the sneaking contest. Sam should have taken a piss _before_ starting his watch duty.

With Sam’s position now obvious, John advanced quickly, and rounded a thick tree. The sight took him completely by surprise. Sam was squatting on the ground relieving himself—no, _herself_. She was facing directly toward him. John could hardly avoid seeing. A look of horror grew on Sam’s face, and John turned his back.

Of course, thought John. It all made sense. That uncomfortable-looking cuirass had to stay on to hide her breasts. The belt disguised the curve of her hips, and the kerchief over her mouth hid the shape of her jaw. Her military haircut completed the illusion. If he hadn’t stumbled on her urinating then he might never have noticed the truth. He waited for the sound to stop, then turned back around.

John realized a little too late that he should have given her some more time. Sam was wiping herself with a square of wood-pulp paper. She hastily stood up, and the triangle of dark hair John glimpsed as she pulled up her breeches made him all the more certain she was female.

Sam was standing motionless. Unsure of what to do, John slowly approached her.

“John,” she said, “it can’t be your watch already.”

“I’m early, yes.” This was a new challenge, and John was unsure how to deal with it. The party absolutely had to stay together. Thinking fast, he continued, “Sam, I don’t have to tell anybody.”

“Please don’t,” said Sam.

“But five more days without getting caught won’t be easy. Let me get this straight. Tell me truly, are you a woman?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to keep it a secret?”

“Yes.”

“Then so be it. I hired you for your skills, and this does not change them. I see no reason why it should disrupt the quest. I will not reveal your secret. As far as everybody else knows, you are just Sam, the same as always.”

“Thank you.” She still looked worried. Could the quest really continue unchanged? John decided that any action was better than nothing, and it was still Sam’s watch duty.

“Walk a patrol with me,” said John.

“Just a moment,” said Sam. She bent down to hide the used paper in a dense cluster of ferns.

“Careful,” said John, “putting your hand there.” It was a reminder that despite her skills, Sam was inexperienced in adventuring. “This is the kind of country where you find snakes. Not ones that will bother you unless you bother them, but something to be aware of.”

Sam pulled back suddenly. “Let’s walk that patrol,” she said. They walked in silence.

After a complete circuit, John spoke up. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll need you awake and alert tomorrow, and I’m not likely to get much sleep before my watch.”

“Thank you,” said Sam, and she returned to the tent.

By the time John had turned the sand timer for the true start of his watch, Sam was fast asleep. By the time he had awakened Carl, John was so tired that he thought nothing of sharing a tent with a woman.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a rough outline of the whole fic, and I plan to work on it in parallel with my Touhou fic. Any feedback greatly appreciated.


End file.
